


Lone Wolf

by Ladibard_Wordsmith28



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Gen, Isolation, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:15:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23965249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladibard_Wordsmith28/pseuds/Ladibard_Wordsmith28
Summary: "I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper on death." But Severus Snape kept the finest trick to cheat dead hidden within him.
Kudos: 1





	Lone Wolf

"I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper on death."~ But Severus Snape kept the finest trick to cheat died hidden within him.

Disclaimer: I owe AU and OCS, the rest are JKRs.

* * *

**Lone Wolf**

In the beginning, when moving an inch was like giving a colossal invitation to pain, he laid still in the shadows, barely breathing. It was difficult, but before they could come back for him before they would discover his secret, he had managed to transform with every ounce of magic that was still running its course in his veins. One last time, then he would truly leave this place. He will be hunted, aurors will look for him everywhere, they will comb the forest, the castle, his hometown, or whatever was left of it. They will not rest until they make him wear those heavy manacles until they force him to breathe the very air those dementors suck in.

This was better, he could hide, he could run, he was free. Was he? He had tried to run away, several times, once his strength had started reviving itself. Hunger and thirst drove him to lap at the water of a virgin stream and sink his teeth, sharp and brutal, over the soft coat of a wild hare. He realized for the first time, he enjoyed the chase. It felt better to be the hunter and not fall into the habit of being hunted.

From among the shadows of the tall trees of the high mountains, he watched the world gradually healing itself. The great castle which Voldermort had forced to bend down to its knees, was once again standing tall. The magical society toiled hard to see it back to its glory. The day when they held a mass funeral for all those who earned martyrdom a couple of weeks ago when they held their wands aloft and shooted spells that turned into solemn fireworks, he had placed his paw on the remaining piece of ebony stick, which he carried in his mouth, ever since he left the Shrieking Shack. For the first time, quite effortlessly he had howled from the top of the cliff that had also morphed itself into his eternal watchtower.

Sniffing around, perking his ears he had smelt this small cave out all by himself. Someone else lived here. But this smell was friendly, familiar, and homely. A handful of red feathers, bird dropping littered the floor. Hungry, still trying to learn the tricks to bait those smart bush hares, he had decided to wait for this giant bird to return. At least he could give himself the last chance. Either this bird will kill him, toss his over with its sharp beak, or he would die of hunger.

Neither happened, a rustle of feathers had woken him up from his sleep. In front of him, lay a couple of dead ferrets and two young fawns. Food. Raw meat. He had eaten his fill. None of them were laced with potions or poison. It was real food. Gathering strength, he had moved to the mouth of the cave. The night sky was slowly giving itself away to the approaching dawn. Strange creatures woke up calling each other, waking up the trees and the stagnant air covering the treetops. A shadow fell over him, instantly he backed into the cave, peering up. All he could see was a giant bird flying away. A glint caught his wary eyes. A few feet away sat an odd bowl made of animal skin, filled with, what could only be innocent water. In the light of the orange dawn, he saw himself for the first time. A long black fur snort, two pointed ears that flicked around to catch any sound, two blazing black intelligent eyes with streaks of gold adding to their sheer prowess. Glistening black fur coat. Four paws, strong limbs, that no longer creaked and lost the fight against agonizing spasms, and a thick warm tail that could overshadow his once billowing black robes. Dipping his head, till the tip of his wet nose touched the surface of the cool water, he spoke to himself, " My name is Severus Snape."


End file.
